


Videotape #1

by ceeainthereforthat



Series: Hedonism for Beginners [2]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Dildos, Eliot Waugh's Canonically Huge Dick, Eliot's amazed reaction to quentin, Feelings, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Season One Shenanigans, Sharing sexual fantasies, exhibitionist quentin, surprise! it's a video camera
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-23 01:23:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19140763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceeainthereforthat/pseuds/ceeainthereforthat
Summary: Eliot finds an old JVC camcorder.It still works.





	Videotape #1

Clothes make the man, and Eliot Waugh knows it. He takes his time building all the pieces that will make him exactly what he needs to be tonight. The clothes he sweated in while moving furniture and testing the lights go in a hamper. Eliot washes off everything he doesn't need while standing in the shower, and walks out, clean and blank.

He brushes shaving lather on his face straight out of the shower, and concentrates on the slow ritual of gliding the heavy head of his safety razor over his face, following the grain of his beard, going over his face repeatedly until his jaw is smooth.

Face clean, he begins. First: lotion scented like the sandalwood perfume Quentin likes. Nails trimmed, shaped, buffed till they're gleaming. No watch. Time isn't going to matter tonight.

He walks out of the steamy bathroom and dresses in front of the mirror. Every detail has to be perfect, from the creases on Eliot's sharp, slim cut navy trousers, the lay of every button on the waistcoat that goes with it, the fresh-pressed hand of a crisp, shiny slate blue shirt with the top button open, framing the notch at the base of his throat. He folds the cuffs to the elbow, considers his reflection, and nods. 

No contacts today. He pulls a pair of heavy, square-edged eyeglasses from the drawer and checks out his reflection. There. That's what he needed to balance the mahogany brown belt and matching shoes.

He stands back. Everything is just right. Just one more thing.

He cuts open the wrap on the bottle he selected, and the rich berry-and-wet-stones scent of a jammy Pinot Noir fills his senses as he pours wine into a decanter. 

The lights trained on the chaise lounge are hot, and a thread of worry sprouts through the cracks. He didn't tell Quentin all the details that morning--just that he wanted to talk about Quentin's fantasies. He had nodded and licked his lips, agreeing in a voice that was a bit breathless when Eliot said he had something special planned for it, heading off Quentin's questions with a toe-curling kiss. Now that classes are over, he's probably running all the way back to the cottage—

His alarm rings, and Eliot crosses the room to switch it off before sauntering downstairs to meet Quentin at the door. 

.o.O.o.

Quentin pushes windblown hair out of his face and gapes at Eliot, dragging his gaze from the shiny toes of his shoes up to the heavy, square glasses. By the time his half-dazed eyes meet Eliot's, he's flustered, wonder written all over his face.

"You look completely hot," Quentin says. "Do we have time for me to change even though I don't have anything near as nice as that? Are we going into the city? Can you help me pick something to wear—"

He's adorable. Eliot steps in close and lays a finger over Quentin's lips. The quiet gesture stills his tongue, his pupils flaring wide open. 

"We're just going upstairs," Eliot says. "You get to see what I have planned for you there. You're perfect just like that."

"I was distracted all day, wondering what you planned," Quentin says. "There are cheesy little drawings of you in the margins of all my notes today."

Wow. That's so sweet. Eliot's smile blooms across his face. "Can I see?"

Quentin clutches his hardbound notebook to his chest. "They're in pen, so they're off. But I could try and do a good one of you, if you want." 

"Sure," Eliot says. "Do you need anything before we go upstairs?"

Quentin nods. "Yeah. I actually need a few minutes, can you wait?"

"Take your time. But hurry."

Quentin smiles, and it lights up his whole face. "Okay."

He sneaks in real close, lifting his face to Eliot's for a kiss. Eliot curls his hand around Quentin's neck and kisses him like he's making a promise for later. Quentin breaks away with a small laugh and runs up the stairs, heading for his room on the second floor.

Eliot stands there until Margo comes over, shoving his shoulder. "You are so gone. Look at you. You look good enough to eat, and you're staring up the stairs after a boy."

Eliot scoffs. "Shut up."

"I knew I liked him," Margo says, and sips on a tall, ice-filled mojito. "But who knew he had that cuddle party in him? Unseen depths, indeed. I thought he was a virgin."

Eliot glances sideways at Margo and smiles. 

Margo's eyes widen and she hastily swallows. "You're kidding."

He lays his finger on the side of his nose. "You've gotta look out for the quiet ones. Freaks, every last one of them."

Margo muddles the mint in her drink. "You were one of the quiet ones when you were in first year."

"That's how I know," Eliot says. He holds his hand out. "You want another one of those?"

.o.O.o.

Eliot heard the shower stop fifteen minutes ago, and Quentin comes downstairs in fresh clothes, making an effort to match Eliot's carefully chosen attire. A black shirt, black trousers, a belt and his good shoes. It's not bad, actually.

Margo sucks up the last of her second mojito with a straw. "Look at you, cutie."

"We really are just going upstairs," Eliot says. 

"I know," Quentin says. "I just...wanted to wear this shirt."

"We should take him shopping," Margo says. "Figure out a day. Go have fun, you two."

Quentin jogs up both flights of stairs with a spring in his step, heading straight for Eliot's room at the end of the hall, and that's when Eliot loses his nerve. 

"Wait," Eliot says.

Quentin pauses, his hand an inch away from the doorknob, and turns around. "What is it?"

"I had an idea," Eliot says. "And I got a little carried away, and there's stuff I didn't tell you about. Stuff I didn't ask you about. I think you'll like it. I wanted to surprise you. But I should have asked."

"Okay. So what do you want me to know before I open this door?"

"I think you'll get a good idea of what I had planned when you see it. I just want you to know that you can say no to any of it. If you don't like it, it goes."

"All right. Deal," Quentin says, and he swings the door open before Eliot can say anything else. Before he can change his mind. Before he can link it to a portal in Chelsea where they can get a nice dinner in the last weeks of patio season and forget the whole thing.

Quentin walks right into the room and stops, staring at the setup. Eliot follows, closing the door behind them. Locking it. Maybe he should shove a dresser in front of it, just to make sure. 

Quentin's looking at the chaise lounge, the antique that doesn't bounce or give at all, lit up from the left, the right, and from a floor flood gazing up. At the table where a chunky, realistically cock-shaped dildo rests on its flared base next to a bottle of lube. The other table holds a decanter of red wine and two balloon-round glasses. And then he turns his head to look at the antique JVC camcorder pointed at the well-lit chaise lounge, pointed at the center of all those lights where a subject should be. 

"You can say no to anything," Eliot says. "You can ask me anything you want."

Quentin pushes his hair out of his eyes. "Does the camera work?"

"Yes."

"Is there even a VHS in the cottage?"

"There is."

Quentin stares at it for a long moment. "Do you want to keep the tape?"

"Only if you'll let me."

Quentin looks over the whole scene, and his tongue darts out of his mouth to lick his lips. "What do you want me to do?"

"Whatever you want. I have an interview I'd like to do while you do it."

"Okay," Quentin says. "Yes. Yes to all of it."

.o.O.o.

It's already hot in this room from the floodlights. Quentin settles into the center of the chaise, running his hand through his silky hair and making it catch the light. His shoulders are broader under the camera's eye. There's a light in his eyes that sparkles with excitement, and everything about his posture and gestures is magnetic. He sips his wine, watching Eliot over the rim of his glass, and it's like a different Quentin is sitting down in front of him. He smiles, and jerks his chin toward the camera, the red unblinking light signaling that it's recording every move he makes.

"So that's rolling, right?"

Eliot nods, then realizes Quentin might not be able to see him. "We're recording."

"It's hot under these lights," Quentin says. "Do you mind if I—"

He's already unbuttoning his shirt with a sly smile, and Eliot fills his mouth with wine. Fuck. It's like he created a monster--just under the surface of quiet, shy, awkward Quentin lurks a fucking fox.

He sets the glass down and watches Eliot while he unfastens every button and pulls the tails free, and Eliot takes a moment to appreciate his shoulders and chest--soft with just a dusting of hair. He's stronger looking without an over-large t-shirt that hangs off his shoulders, broad across the chest and lats--it still messes with Eliot's head that Q was hiding all that.

"That's better," Quentin says, but he's already threading the tongue of his belt out of the buckle. "You said you had questions."

Eliot shakes his head a little. "Yeah. Why don't you start by telling me a little bit about yourself?"

Quentin grins. "Okay. I'm Quentin, I'm twenty-four years old. I'm a graduate student, and this is the first time I've ever done anything like this."

"You're a natural," Eliot says. "How do you feel? Nervous?"

Quentin chuckles. "Maybe I should," he says. "But it feels good. I like it."

"You like feeling watched?"

"Yeah. Weird, right?" Quentin opens his fly and stands up, shoving his trousers down, off, and he tosses them aside. The buckle lands on the wooden floor with a clack.

"How does it feel?"

Quentin sits, wearing nothing but tight, silky looking low-rise briefs, leaning back on one hand and showing off the long, lean lines of his body. He looks down with a shy little smile on his face. "A lot of things all at once. Exciting. Scary. Vulnerable, exposed—" he gazes past the lights at Eliot, looking right into his eyes. "It's really hot. Do you like watching me?"

Eliot licks his lips. Fuck. "Yeah. You're gorgeous."

He flips his hair back and smiles, and Eliot's awestruck. His smile quirks up a little higher on the left side than the right, his wide mouth parted on soft laughter. He slips one hand into the top of his briefs, and the glint in his eyes is a little wicked.

"You wanna watch the rest?"

"Show me. And tell me something."

"Anything." He stands up again, and turns his body just a little, showing off the curve of his ass in those briefs. Quentin gets up at ass o'clock in the morning to get that swimmer's body, and Eliot could stare at his ass all day, but it's question time. 

Eliot clears his throat and asks, "Do you enjoy fantasizing about sex?"

Quentin bends down as he eases the briefs down to his ankles. He turns his head to lay a sparkling smile on Eliot. "Absolutely. I have had many more sexual fantasies than I've had sexual experiences."

"How often do you fantasize?"

"Every day," Quentin says, stepping out of the last garment he had on. "Easy. I jerk off--yeah, every day, twice a day, sometimes."

Every day. That's not a surprise. But Eliot wants to know when, and where, and—"I know that you've had sexual fantasies about me."

"Oh, hell yes," Quentin agrees. He stands up, and Eliot stops thinking while he watches the subtle flex and sway of Quentin's body as he moves, turning toward Eliot with his hand on his cock, caressing gentle fingers over the shiny, wet tip. Released, Quentin's cock stands tall, curving up to point at the ceiling, his balls snug and round against his shaft.

"Hold still," Eliot says. "Let me look at you."

Quentin's eyes flash. He strokes a line of glistening fluid from the tip of his cock with two fingers and raises them to his mouth, his gaze boring into Eliot as he licks them clean.

Eliot grunts, imagining Quentin licking his cock like that, and snaps back to the real Quentin gazing at him with a slow-burning smile that dares him to come over there and—

"When—" His voice is hoarse. Eliot touches the base of his throat and hems. "When did you have your first fantasy with me in it?"

"I imagined you hopping down from on top of that Brakebills sign and stalking up to me like you wanted to eat me alive," Quentin says. "I imagined you sizing me up, and putting your fingers under my chin and kissing me right there, where—" he smiles and sits down on the chaise, his knees spread and his erection on full display. "Where anyone could see us. I think that was half a second after you read my name off that card--I had a raging hard-on by the time I followed you to the testing room. I've been thinking about you ever since."

Fuck. Quentin had been hot for him on sight. And to have him admit it, so honestly, exposing not just his body but his desire--It went straight to Eliot's dick. "You got hard thinking about kissing me?"

Quentin shrugged. "You also pulled my hair."

"Is that why you keep it long?"

Quentin nods. "I love that."

A handful of Quentin's fine-as-silk hair between Eliot's fingers, grabbed close to the scalp. Eliot can almost see Quentin's surprised gasp and the blissed out surrender in his eyes. It makes his cock throb. A delicious skin-hungry awareness races through Eliot's body. He can stop asking questions now. He can get out of this chair, and go pull Quentin's hair, and watch him become the abandoned, aroused lover who drove a whole room into fucking like beasts just from listening to him.

Eliot leans on the arm of his chair and doesn't move. "Did you think about me again when you were alone?"

"Yes. That night. I jerked off on my bed and pretended you were watching me from the window." Quentin shrugs. "I know people didn't like that. They make jokes about Twilight. But it's...people don't look at me," Quentin says. "They don't see me. So when I thought about you doing that, it was like you saw me."

"I see you," Eliot says. "You're beautiful. I like watching you like this."

Relief washes across Quentin's face. He strokes his cock, playing his fingers over the head. "That's what I thought about."

"Did I only just watch?" 

"Until we met the next day, and you made me tell you I was thinking about you."

"In your fantasy. And then I fucked you?"

"No. I came when I admitted it," Quentin says.

It's not just exposing his body that gets Quentin off, then. Sitting here, baring his secrets--this was doing it for him. Quentin gets off on intimacy. The idea sends a terrified little thrill up Eliot's body. 

"When did I fuck you?"

"The next time I did it, I thought about you fucking me." 

"So it was like parts in a story you told yourself."

Quentin glances at the dildo on the table. "Then I heard the gossip. About your dick. I bought a dildo-a big one."

"Like that one?"

Quentin nods at the dildo on the table. "Little smaller. But yeah."

Eliot's lip stings at all the sharp little edges of his teeth digging into it. He curls his hands around the wooden chair arms and squeezes. Every tiny hair on his arms stands up, and if he touched them, they would feel like static from the dryer. Quentin bought a dildo and pretended it was his dick. Fuck.

"Pick it up," Eliot says. "How did you use it?"

Quentin leans over and grabs it. It's nice and thick, long enough to really feel it inside. "I can show you."

"Show me," Eliot says. "Show me how I fucked you."

.o.O.o.

Quentin doesn't just have a hot swimmer's body, as if that wasn't enough to leave Eliot drooling. He should have known when Quentin bent over straight-legged and touched the floor taking off his underwear, but his mind is blown when Quentin kneels on the chaise and then spreads his knees so far apart he might as well be doing the splits. He's deliciously, erotically _bendy,_ and Eliot has a perfectly unobstructed view of his cock, his balls, his perineum, and his lubed up fingers sliding in and out of his asshole.

"You fingered me open, like this," Quentin says, "and you talked _dirty._ "

It should be Eliot's fingers. Quentin arches his back and it's a beautiful sight, but even his flexibility has limits. He can't get past the second knuckle. Eliot could get deeper than that. He could watch Quentin fall apart bouncing on his fingers, and he could watch every change in the blissed out, aroused look on Quentin's face up close. He could watch the second Eliot let him have three fingers, the way his brows knit together as Eliot stretched him open.

"What did I say to you?"

"You told me how good I looked. You asked me if I liked it, and guessed that I would do just about anything for your cock."

"Would you?"

"You told me I would go down on you in the common room. That I would get on my knees and suck you right there, gagging on it while everyone watched—"

Fuck. It bends Eliot's brain. That wasn't just exhibitionism. That was about Eliot having power over him. "Would you?"

"Only if everyone in the room was cool with that," Quentin says. 

"Say they were."

"Yes," Quentin says, and bites his lip. "But we can't do that—"

"That's okay. You can still think it," Eliot says. "And you'd love it, wouldn't you?"

Quentin moans and shivers. "Yes. Fuck, yes."

Fuck, but he wants to jerk off. He wants his dick in his hand--no. He wants Quentin kneeling over him like that, working himself open to take his cock. He keeps his hands on the arms of his chair. "What do you want them to see?"

Quentin's cock rears up, shiny and slick. "How much I want you. How bad I want you to—that I wanted your cock in my mouth, so I could make you come."

Holy shit. "You're so hot," Eliot says. "The things you make me want to do—"

"Are you--you're not touching yourself."

"No," Eliot says. "That's all for you."

He wasn't going to last. He couldn't touch himself now even if he wanted to break his own rules--he'll come unless he does something about it. But he isn't going to touch himself, because after Quentin showed him what he did when he thought about Eliot fucking him, Eliot was going to screw his brains out. 

Quentin catches his lip between his teeth and groans. "I want it."

"Show me, first. Show me how I fucked you."

Quentin's hands shake as he puts the dildo down, raising his hips to let the tip nudge up against his ass. "I couldn't do it the first time," he says. "Too big."

Eliot watches, fascinated. The dildo looks too big, poised between Quentin's spread legs, but Quentin toys with his cock and closes his eyes and concentrates on relaxing enough to take it, to open up and let it inside.

He fucked himself and pretended it was Eliot. Every time Eliot realizes it, he feels like he's standing in a hot July wind, waiting for lighting to crash across the sky. "How many times did you have to try?"

"I thought I wasn't ever going to do it." He's doing it now, and Eliot watches the tension knit between his eyebrows. "It was three tries just to take the head. But I wanted you so bad. I had to act so normal when really I just wanted to get on my knees and—"

Every time Eliot had ever talked to Quentin he had been thinking about him too. Fuck. They were so _stupid._ "So what did you think about when you couldn't make it fit?"

"I pretended you were watching me on my phone, coaching me, and you told me I was good."

"You are good," Eliot says. Nothing is more important than watching Quentin try to please him. "So then you were my camboy."

"Yeah. I did whatever you told me to—I held the phone there so I could watch, so I could see what I was showing you—" Quentin groans and slides down the dildo another inch. "Fuck. Your cock is so big—"

Eliot's going to crush the knobby elbows of his armchair, he's squeezing it so hard. He's tense all over with the need to hold himself back. "Do you like it?"

"I love it," Quentin says. "Love your big cock in me...all the way, filled up so full, fucking so hard...fuck me, Eliot, please."

Fuck. "Take my cock. Take it all the way."

Quentin throws his head back and groans as he sinks to the padded seat. He reaches behind him to hold the base down and raises his hips, fucking himself slow and deep, stretched wide around the thick shaft stuffed up inside him. It's mesmerizing, from the noises escaping his open mouth, down to his stone-hard, fluid-shiny cock bobbing with his movements, to the dildo disappearing into his ass...fuck. What a sight, and all of it for him.

"That's so good," Eliot says. "So hot and perfect...fuck, you look so good up there."

"Come here," Quentin says. "I want you in my mouth."

Eliot's cock throbs, and he can't wait any more. The camera's rolling, and he doesn't even care. He stands up and walks into the hot lights, bending down to curl his hand around Quentin's neck and kiss him in front of that shining red light that sees everything they do. 

Quentin reaches for his belt, sliding his fingers down to find the zipper. He's got his cock out and in his hand in a few seconds, moaning into Eliot's mouth.

"Let me suck you," Quentin says, and Eliot lets him go at it, opening his wide mouth and closing it over the head and— 

"Fuck," Eliot whispers, and quickly tuts a spell because he's not done yet. Not anywhere near. "Did you think about this? Stuffed on both ends?"

"Mhm, mhmm," Quentin mouths, and he's trying to take as much as he can, bumping up against the back of his throat and gagging, but not willing to give up. But then he pulls back far enough that he can suck, his cheeks hollow, his tongue sliding and writhing around the head. 

"Who?"

"Two of you," Quentin says, diving back onto his dick.

Eliot strokes Quentin's hair. "Did you know there's a spell for that?"

The look on Quentin's face is worth a thousand rubies. His eyes go round and then flutter half shut. He groans, and the vibrations all along Eliot's dick are perfect.

"I won't tell you when I do it," Eliot says. "I'll just show up, me and...me two. Right in the common room. Everyone will know exactly what's about to go down, but I think we'll both kiss you, just to make sure there's no mistake. And then we'll take you upstairs...do you want to tape that too?"

The sound that vibrates all over Eliot's dick is completely wrecked, but Eliot's never not pushed someone over the edge when he gets the chance. He spreads his fingers in Quentin's hair and closes it on a fistful, pulling on it.

Quentin gasps, and Eliot draws his hips back and holds Quentin's head still, fucking his mouth. Not too deep, not too fast, but Quentin's so gone Eliot knows he guessed that one right.

"Fuck, look at you. This is everything you want, isn't it?"

Quentin's entranced. He's flying, and Eliot slows down, determined not to let him fall. 

"I love being everything you want."

He reaches up to undo a button on his waistcoat, and Quentin watches as Eliot takes off his clothes, getting as naked as Quentin is.

"I had my first fantasy with you in it right after I dropped you off to take the entrance exam," Eliot says, and Quentin's eyebrows raise. "I thought about inviting you to a party at the cottage and flirting with you. You were leaning up against the wall, drinking an absinthe suissette I made for you, and we kissed...it was so vivid I had to stop thinking about it. I could taste the anise on your lips; I could feel your heart beating."

He pushes Quentin, gently, putting him on his ass. He pours out a good dose of lube and strokes it over Quentin's cock, gentle, slow, and Quentin sucks in a a breath as Eliot straddles his hips. "I'd see you and I'd remember that kiss. I kept making suissettes for you because I wanted the fantasy to be a prophecy...and then I asked you if you were a virgin, and it made me re-think what I was doing with you."

There's no time to fuck around with fingers. Eliot lets out a deep breath and presses back, gasping as the tip of Quentin's cock pushes in. Hurts--he goes still, and Quentin doesn't move an inch, mouth and eyes wide.

"I dreamed of taking my time with you. I never wanted a virgin before. I didn't know how to do it. I did research--and I jerked off thinking about that. I jerked off imagining that I could be everything you needed, and it was all soft and romantic and gentle and private."

He grins down at Quentin and eases himself down with a hiss. "I still want to do that. Would you like it?"

"Yes," Quentin says. He holds Eliot's hips. "I'd love it."

"But I imagined you on your knees sucking me off. I thought about fucking you until you came on my cock. I thought about taking you to a party where I could watch you kiss a beautiful woman—"

Quentin moans and Eliot laughs. "Oh, you like that."

"Yes," Quentin gasps. "Oh fuck, you're—"

All the way, now. Eliot gets his knees under him and just feels it--Quentin's cock all the way up his ass, the discomfort of brute forcing it fading as his body gets used to it.

Quentin gazes up at him. How must it feel, crammed full of that dildo while balls-deep in Eliot's ass? "We can do this to you. Me and Me two."

"Fuck, fuck yes," Quentin moans. "Come here—"

Quentin reaches for Eliot's shoulders and Eliot bends down to kiss him. "This is incredible. I didn't even know I could feel like this." 

Quentin's eyes go wide, and Eliot presses his knees into the chaise lounge and moves.

Fuck, it's good. Eliot leans back and rides Quentin's cock, angling it exactly the right way to make him shut his eyes and groan every time he takes it all.

"Fuck, Quentin. Fuck me. Fuck me hard."

Quentin groans and grabs Eliot's hips, biceps flexing as he lifts Eliot and keeps him in place. He fucks up into Eliot, slamming him down, and it's so perfect, so exactly right—

Anyone walking up to the physical kid's cottage has to hear them through the open windows. Fuck, they're probably loud enough that people can hear them downstairs in the common room. He looks down into Quentin's eyes and he's flushed, his eyes almost black even though the lights are blazing and Eliot knows that high sound already, Quentin's near the edge and trying to hold on, just a little more, trying to push Eliot as high as he is before he comes.

Eliot squeezes his cock and Quentin's eyes screw shut, his jaw clenched, and he's slamming Eliot down on his cock and it's fucking perfect, hard, just how he likes it, and Eliot's jerking his cock to Quentin fucking him, really fucking him and not some tightly grasped dream-vision but real flesh and blood and sweat and—

Quentin's mouth opens on a loud, punched out groan. Another. His cock swells and jumps, and Eliot strokes faster, tighter, pulling the spell away so he can let the pressure and the so good it almost hurts tension release.

He spatters Quentin's belly and chest with come, half bent over with the intensity. He'd held out so long, drew it out so tight and now he's coming, another splash of come striping over Quentin's skin, and Quentin's watching him come all over his chest like it's the hottest thing he's ever seen.

When it's over, when Quentin pulls him down to tremble and learn to breathe again, he strokes Eliot's back, kisses his shoulder, his jaw; he laughs, half delirious, and squeezes Eliot tight.

"You are the most amazing. I—"

Eliot catches his mouth and kisses him. "Yes. That was—"

"Good?"

"Transcendent," Eliot says. 

Quentin kisses Eliot again, and he chuckles. "We need a shower. And cheeseburgers. And sleep."

.o.O.o.

An hour later, after the camera's off and the lights are dim, Quentin's stretched out naked in Eliot's bed, his face lined in silvery moonlight while Eliot watches him.

Fuck. He's so...so good. So uninhibited, so free--not afraid of what he feels or how intensely he feels it, and so trusting. Eliot wants to wrap him up and protect him. He wants to do every single dirty, kinky thing Quentin's ever dreamed about. He wants to lay him in a soft, luxurious bed and reverently, tenderly make love to him, and he's never wanted to do that with anyone.

Asleep, Quentin's peaceful and relaxed, and Eliot's transfixed. Every detail of his face--the heavy eyebrows, the angle of his jaw, his mouth and nose are so uniquely Quentin that Eliot's sure he would know him anywhere. He studies Quentin's face, gently combing Quentin's hair with his fingers, and the familiar tensions reshape his face--his brow wrinkles; his jaw tightens. 

Eliot woke him. He opens his eyes, blinking in the moonlight until he focuses on Eliot. He smiles. "You can't sleep?"

"Not yet."

"Are you thinking?"

Eliot smiles. "Yes."

"What are you thinking about?"

_How I will never get you out of my head._ Eliot smiles and kisses Quentin's forehead. "That you're lovely when you sleep."


End file.
